


Hope

by Atiaran



Series: Samantha [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-09
Updated: 2011-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atiaran/pseuds/Atiaran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Fallout 3 fic.  Deals with Gob's feelings for Nova, and how Nova responds to them. Inspired by the dialogue exchange where you ask Nova if she's ever "worked" with Gob.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope

**Standard disclaimer:**   None of the characters, places, etc. in this story are mine, but are instead the property of Bethesda Game Studios.  No copyright infringement is intended by their use in this story.

 **Author’s note:** This fic was inspired by the dialogue exchange that happens if you ask Nova whether she’s ever “worked” with Gob (in fact, Nova’s response is quoted verbatim in the fic that follows.)  It also incorporates some ruminations of mine on the changes in the Vault dweller since she (in this story, she’s female) climbed out of the Vault.  Unlike my Charon fic, I’ve left the Vault dweller unnamed here; I think it makes the story flow easier and feel less jarring.  If you really must have a name, it’s Samantha—this story is probably not _entirely_ in the same continuity as my Charon fic, but close.   As always, thanks to the wonderful LadyKate, who kindly betaed.

 

The damn radio was on the fritz again.

It had always been a fairly temperamental device, Nova observed; it had its good days and its bad days.  The Galaxy News Station had been going through a bad streak recently, though, spitting nothing but popping crackles of static as often as not when tuned in.  The only alternative, the Enclave station, was no alternative at all; listening to more than ten minutes of it at a time set everyone’s teeth on edge.  Sometimes Nova wondered about it: a set of recorded propaganda announcements and music, playing over and over again, for as long as she or anyone could remember.  Even Manya, the oldest person in Megaton, couldn’t remember a time when the Enclave station hadn’t been on the air.  It often gave Nova the chills, to think of this voice from two hundred years ago, from the chaos in the immediate aftermath of the war, repeating itself endlessly to an intended audience long since fallen into dust.  There was something terrible about such a thought.

 _Not that anyone in this dive is a student of history,_ she thought.

Behind the bar, Gob was banging on the radio again, hard.  “Work, damn you,” he growled in his raspy voice.  All of the ghouls Nova had ever met sounded like he did.  It was something about the way the radiation affected their vocal chords, ruining their voice just as surely as the rest of their body.  Listening to that bottle-brush voice always made Nova want to reach for a lozenge.  _Funny how he manages to sound both hoarse and whining at the same time._    “Come on…come _on!_ ”  He thumped it again, with more than a trace of desperation. 

“Gob, leave it alone,” she chided gently.  “You’re going to break the damn thing and then we’ll have no radio at all, unless you can scav the parts for it from Moira or Crazy Wolfgang.”  _And Moriarty’s just skinflint-mean enough to add the cost of it to your debts, too._   She didn’t say it, not with the man himself within earshot; Moriarty was slouched over one end of the bar doing some figuring.   Though he appeared to be completely ignoring the conversation, Nova knew that was an illusion; Moriarty always paid close attention to _everything_ going on around him.

Gob showed no sign of hearing her.  Not that she thought he would.  For her, the radio was a pleasant diversion.  To Gob, it was vital.  Gob _needed_ Galaxy News and Three Dog’s tales of “Fighting the Good Fight” in a way that she didn’t.  _Lousy as it is working for Moriarty,_ she thought, watching the ghoul alternately cajole and abuse the radio, _at least I’m a free agent.  Can leave any time…if I thought taking my chances with the Raiders was worth a try._ Gob couldn’t. 

 _Technically_ Gob wasn’t a slave; shortly after Sheriff Simms had taken over, he’d shown up in the bar and had made clear that he had no intention of permitting slavery in his town.  Moriarty had rather high-handedly explained to Simms that Gob was _actually_ something called an “indentured servant” and that he’d be free to go as soon as he’d worked off what Moriarty had paid to acquire him.  Simms had not looked happy, but had backed off; Moriarty was too powerful in the town for him to directly challenge, and both of them knew it.  Slave or indentured servant, it made no difference as far as Nova could see; either way, it meant that Moriarty had Gob’s tail in a crack, and intended to keep the ghoul there until he had wrung every last cent he could out of Gob’s patchy, rotting hide.  _And then there’s having to wake up and stare… **that** …in the mirror every morning.  Bad enough to have to look at him from the **outside** …_ She couldn’t imagine what it must be like actually to be trapped in that slowly disintegrating body.   _Hell, if obsessing over the radio is what he needs to get through the day, who am I to judge?_

“Leave it alone, Gob honey, all right?” she asked, as he lifted one end of the radio a bit and then dropped it on the splintery and decaying surface of the counter.  “I told you, it’s not the radio, it’s the signal.   It’s just going through a rough patch right now.  It’ll pick up again eventually. It always does.”

“Maybe the signal would come in better if the radio weren’t such a piece of shit,” Gob growled.  “God _damnit,_ will you just _come in_ already? – _Ow!!_ ”




Moriarty had bestirred himself from his figuring to cuff Gob, hard, in the back of the head.  The ghoul cried out and clapped one hand to the affected spot.  Moriarty fixed him with a hard glare.

“Leave off,” he commanded brusquely.  “I’ve told you half a dozen times today to leave the bloody radio alone, and I’m not after reminding ye again.  I’ve no mind to be replacing the radio because yer putrid brains all dripped out yer pestilent ear.”

“You didn’t have to do that!” Gob dared to protest.  His flayed features were hard to read, but Nova thought his reaction was mostly shock, not pain; he’d forgotten Moriarty was there.  Normally he just put his head down and took it.  “You—you could have just _asked_ —“

“I’ll not be asking the likes of you.  I’ll be telling you.  And I’ll be treating you as I’ve a mind to.  Now leave off the radio or it’s the back of my hand to ye.  Clear?” Moriarty asked, raising one hand.  Not for the first time, Nova wondered where he had come by his rather phony-sounding accent.  _Probably from watching old vids,_ she thought cynically. 

Faced with this threat, Gob bowed his head, and those broad shoulders slumped.  Occasionally Nova wondered idly what might happen were Moriarty ever to push Gob too far one day; for all his raddled and pockmarked appearance, the ghoul’s strength was fairly impressive.  _If Moriarty didn’t have his shotgun with him, things could get….interesting._   Not that anything like that would ever happen.  _Gob’s a sweetie, but like most sweeties, easily cowed._  

“Get back to work,” Moriarty ordered him brusquely, and the ghoul seemed to collapse in on himself a bit more.  “I’ve no time to spend all day chatting with ye.”  So saying, he stubbed out his cigarette—carefully in an ashtray instead of on the bar top; Moriarty would never do anything to damage his premises—and stalked off to the small room he called his office and his ancient computer terminal.

Gob watched him go with loathing.  “Goddamn him,” he said when Moriarty was safely out of the room, then repeated, “God _damn_ him.”  He turned to Nova desperately.   “I’m sick of him, Nova.  I’m so sick of his shit.”  The words tumbled out.  He rubbed the back of his head through stringy, sparse strands of hair.  “He’s been coming down on me all week—“

“He’s been coming down on everyone, Gob,” Nova  tried to soothe him.  “You know.   Ever since the Raiders got the last caravan of supplies. "It’s—it’s nothing personal, honey,” she tried, a little unnerved at the depth of her friend’s mood.




“It’s always personal with me,” Gob said.  “I always catch ten times as much shit from him as the rest of you do.  And why?  The same reason I take shit from everybody else—all the customers, the townspeople, _everyone._ The same reason it’s _always_ been.  Because I’m the fucking _ghoul_.  I _hate_ it.”  There was no bitterness in the words; just a trapped desolation that wrung Nova’s heart.  He ran one desperate hand through that patchy hair again. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.  ”

 “Well, it’ll get better, Gob, honey,” she ventured.  “Colin’ll ease off again in a few days.  He always does.  These things pass.”

“Maybe,” Gob said morosely, scrubbing at the bar.  There was silence for a time; then he glanced at her sidelong.  “I swear, Nova—you’re just about the only one around here that treats me like a real person.”

Nova shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of an appropriate response, but just then the door banged open and the Vault kid stepped through.

She had a name, but Nova was no good with names.  _Not much cause to remember them, in **my** line of work._   Nova always just thought of her as the “the kid” or “the Vault kid.”  It had been obvious the kid was a Vaultie the moment she’d stepped through the door of the saloon.  _Could that only have been two months ago?_   She’d had the sickly pallor of worms, grubs and other squirming underground things that had never seen the sun in their lives;  her strange equipment had been well-maintained and in spotless condition unlike the half-broken bits of junk that the other Wasteland wanderers scavved from the decaying refuse of DC; and she herself had given an impression of health and vigor only possible for someone who had never faced the constant background radiation, physical danger, and daily struggle just to survive that was the lot of above-ground dwellers.  Her manners had set her apart as well—unlike the usual human refuse that drifted into and out of Megaton, the kid had been scrupulously polite to everyone she’d spoken with.  _Hell, she practically won poor Gob’s heart the moment she walked through the door, just by not beating on him like everyone else does around here…._  

Gob immediately brightened at the sight of the kid, straightening from the bar countertop.  “Man, am I glad to see you,” he greeted, almost pathetically eager.  “Moriarty’s been especially nasty lately and I needed a friendly face.  Here, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to one of the stools in front of the bar. “Can I get you anything?  Anything at all?  Wine, beer, scotch?  On the house,” he added with a cautious glance at Moriarty’s office.

“Hey there,” Nova greeted, coming forward herself.  “Haven’t seen you around in a while.  Back from your latest sojourn in the Wastelands?”

“Hi Gob.  Hi Nova,” the kid replied to both of them.  “No thank you, Gob.  I’ve got enough junk in my system as it is.  I will take any stim packs if you’ve got ‘em.  This last trip was rough.” 

She grimaced, rubbing at her side.  Nova covertly studied her.  Two months of roving the wastes had not been easy on the kid.  She didn’t look much like a pristine Vaultie anymore.  _More like your typical bit of Wasteland trash._   Her pallid skin had been sunburned a horrid, painful-looking red and was peeling dramatically.  Her bright and shiny equipment had been traded in for the usual rusting patchwork of cobbled-together bits.  Worst of all, there was a tell-tale redness in her eyes and shakiness in her hands that was absolutely ubiquitous among Wasteland wanderers—the sign of someone who was heavily addicted to various chems.  Scuttlebutt was that the kid had been in and out of Doc Church’s clinic several times already, seeking short-term treatment just to get her clean enough to allow her to function.

“What is it this time, kiddo?” Nova asked, sliding onto a stool beside her…hell, there were no customers in the bar, and if they were, it was too early for them to want her kind of refreshment anyway.  “Jet?”

“Buff-out,” the kid corrected ruefully.  “Again.”

“You should leave it alone.  That shit’s no good for you, kid.”

“I _can’t_.”  The kid shook her head.  “I have to have it so I can bring back enough equipment to sell to Moira to keep me on my feet.  I spent all last night lugging three full sets of Blastmaster armor, two Raider arc-light helmets and a couple of fission batteries back over the Wasteland.  If I hadn’t had the Buff-out to boost my strength, I’d never have made it.”  She ran her hands over her face in exhaustion.  Nova raised one brow.

“And the Jet?”

“Reflexes.  When I’m surrounded by five charging Mirelurks, enhanced reflexes come in handy.  Leave me alone, Nova,” the kid said flatly.  “You don’t know what it’s like out there.  You really, really don’t.  I _need_ all the help I can get.”

She ran her trembling hands over her face again.  Nova had heard other wanderers say that before.  Sometimes, she supposed, it was even true.  And it was true enough she didn’t know what it was like out there—the kid’s travels over the Wastelands had taken her places Nova hadn’t even _heard_ of before.  Still, she didn’t like the emphasis the kid had laid on the word _need._  

 “Your life, kiddo,” she said, shrugging.  _Though maybe not for much longer the way you’re going._

Gob had busied himself getting the stimpacks; now he returned to the bar. “Here you go, kid,” he said, shoving the medicine at her eagerly.  “Usual price.”  He gave another cautious glance at Moriarty’s office.  Nova knew he had been risking Moriarty’s wrath selling stims to the kid at a fairly substantial discount.  _All because the kid showed the poor guy a little kindness._   Even at the lower price, the ex-Vaultie counted out the caps with the sort of careful attention that showed they were _just_ within her reach.

“Thanks, Gob,” she said quietly.  “You have no idea how much I appreciate this—“

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing.”  He waved her off.  “You know, we hear about you all the time on the radio.  Three Dog talks about how you disarmed the bomb in the center of town, how you brought Lucy West’s nephew back to Arefu, how you helped the kids in Bigtown defeat the mutants—  He calls you the Hero of the Wastes—says you’re fighting The Good Fight—“

“I know.  I get him on this.”  She held up the device on her left wrist—another, rather amazing piece of Vault technology; she had told Nova it was called a Pip-Boy.   “I wish he wouldn’t talk about me so much. I’d rather hear music.”




“I’ve never known anyone that Three Dog mentioned in his broadcasts before.”  Gob settled enthusiastically against the bar.  Listening to the kid talk was clearly more than enough to make up for the radio being on the fritz. Now he studied her closely.  “What’s that armor?  Is that new?”

“Armor?”  The kid looked confused.  “You mean the Blastmaster armor?  I—“

“No, what you’ve got on now. It looks almost like—“  He hesitated.   “Like Talon Company armor.”  It was hard to read his expression on his damaged features, but he looked uncertain. As well he might; Talon Company was widely known as the company of the meanest, most vicious mercs out there.




“Oh, _this?_ ”  The kid glanced down at herself.  She was indeed wearing the black vest with the white character that symbolized Talon Company.  “Yeah, it is.” 

“Where’d you get it?” Gob asked eagerly.  His eyes hung on her, awaiting more tales of heroism and valor.  “Did you—did you clean out a nest of mercs or something?”

“No, nothing so dramatic.”  The kid laughed briefly.  “Three or so of them were laying in wait for me when I came up out of DuPont station.  I took it off their bodies.  It’s a lot better than that leather stuff I had before.  Easier to find pieces to repair, too.”  The kid shrugged, as if it were all in a day’s work.  The offhanded way she spoke of it sent chills down Nova’s spine, somehow more effectively than if she had bragged.   “They’ve been following me around—this was the fourth group I’ve run into in the past two weeks.”  She looked grim.  “It’s almost like someone’s set them on me, but I don’t know who would. Just what I needed.”  She glanced at Nova. “See what I mean when I said I needed all the help I could get?”




Nova was silent, digesting.  If such words had come out of the mouth of a Raider, she would instantly have dismissed them as rank fiction aimed at impressing her.  The kid, however, had never been known to exaggerate the truth.  Now she worked her shoulders as if trying to ease her load.  “Anyway, it’s another reason I wish Three Dog would shut up about me.  I don’t need any more attention than I’ve already got.”

“Where did you go this time?” Gob asked.

“Vault-Tec  Headquarters.  I was looking for information about my dad, but I didn’t find anything.”  At their blank looks, the kid continued, “It was in downtown DC—“

“With all the supermutants?”  Nova couldn’t contain her surprise.   Even Three Dog spoke of downtown DC in the strongest terms as a no-go zone. __

“They’re not so bad,” the Vaultie demurred.  “I can handle them.  Mostly.  As long as they don’t have missile launchers.  That’s what got me last time.”   She laughed a bit more.  Gob was watching her with something akin to awe, but Nova gave her a narrow look, noticing the deep shadows under the kid’s reddened eyes, the frenetic edge to her mirth.  On top of the revelation about dealing with Talon Company, her blasé attitude was starting to give Nova the creeps. _Maybe she really **does** have a deathwish.  Or maybe it’s something else.  _ Everyone knew that one of the side-effects of chem addiction, especially Jet and Psycho, was impaired judgement—another reason why Wasteland wanderers tended to burn out fast.  _Of course, the **kid** might not know that,_ she reflected.   Most wasters didn’t care, but the kid simply might not even know enough to be careful. _I keep forgetting how little she knows about life outside the Vault._




“Oh, that reminds me: I did bring something back for you both.”  She reached into her pack and pulled out two scorched, slightly cracked coffee mugs, both bearing the legend _Vault-Tec:  Where will YOU be when the Holocaust comes?_   “It’s not much, I’m sorry—but there wasn’t a lot of good stuff, and I had to save weight.”  She handed one to Gob and one to Nova, with a sweet, slightly lopsided smile.  Gob reached for his eagerly, holding on to the cup as reverently as if he were actually clutching a piece of the Good Fight in his peeling and scabrous hands.  Nova took hers with a bit more concern.

“Just take care of yourself, okay, kid?” she murmured.  “Don’t put yourself in danger to bring us back souvenirs.”

“It’s okay, Nova, really—I know what I’m doing.”  The kid smiled again, and Nova couldn’t help noticing again just how red her eyes looked.  Her teeth were starting to go too.  _Another one of the side-effects of Jet._

“Are you going to be in town for long?” Gob asked.

“Just a couple days.  Long enough to rest up, stock up on ammo, make some repairs and visit the doc.  I’ve got a line on some more info about my dad—I’m going to strike out for Rivet City next.”

“I used to hear about Rivet City all the time when I still lived in Underworld,” Gob offered, still holding the cracked, dirty Vault-Tec coffee cup.  “It’s supposed to be the biggest settlement left in the wastes.  I always wanted to visit it someday.  I guess now I’ll never get the chance.”  He grimaced, or so Nova thought, and rubbed at the hole in his face where his nose had once been.

“I’ll bring you back something if you like,” the kid offered.  “Maybe a book, or another cup to go with the one I just brought you today. Or something else if you want it; just tell me what you’d rather have.”  Nova wondered if the Vaultie really knew just how far away Rivet City was, and how difficult it would be to even get there in the first place, let alone get back.

“I’d _rather_ go with you,” Gob said glumly.  He took a swipe at the bar with a grimy, ragged cloth that was in slightly better shape than he was.

“Ah, well.  You’ll see it someday.  I know you will,” the kid tried to console him.

Gob said nothing, continuing to scrub morosely at the bar.  After a moment, he glanced at her sideways.  “Come on, what do you say, kid?  I could be your faithful ghoul manservant. Like Argyle and Herbert ‘Daring’ Dashwood on GNR. I’m strong, I could carry stuff for you, and ghouls are immune to rad-poisoning.”  




It was framed as a joke, but Nova could hear the seriousness behind it.  The kid bit her lip, then tried to laugh it off.  “So who does that make Nova?  Penelope Chase?” 

Nova raised one brow, playing along.  “The _femme fatale?_   Well, it’s not my usual role, but I could improvise….”

“Hey, you said you needed all the help you can get, right?” Gob rasped.  “I’d love to leave this dive behind, get out there, start fighting the Good Fight, find adventure and fortune—just like you’re doing every day.  What do you say, kid?”  He was hanging intently on her every word, watching her with those faded, watery yellow eyes that perhaps had once been blue.  The Vaultie shifted uncomfortably and dropped her eyes.

“Gob,” she said quietly, “I’m not fighting the Good Fight.  I’m just trying to find my dad, find out why he left the Vault, why he’s been _lying_ to me my whole life—“  Her voice shook with savage, unexpected anger.  “All the stuff Three Dog says about me—that’s not stuff I set out to do, I just kept getting caught up in events.  It’s not like Three Dog makes it sound.”

“It’s close enough for me,” Gob avowed.  “Just getting _away_ from this place would be heaven.  Come on, kid.  Aren’t you always saying how lonely it gets out in the Wastes?  Even a ghoul’s got to be better than no company, right?”

Nova glanced away, unable to handle the naked yearning in her friend’s voice.

“Gob—“  The kid sighed and then looked at him squarely.  “No,” she said.  “It’s too dangerous.”  He started to protest, but she cut him off.  “I have enough to do keeping _myself_ alive without having to watch out for someone else.  Hell—you say Three Dog talks about me on the radio.  Did he mention the Bigtown thing?”  At Gob’s blank look the kid explained, “I almost got killed three times just getting two kids back from the Germantown police station to Bigtown in one piece.  Let alone going into downtown D.C. with supermutants, Raiders, Talon, Mirelurks, and Protectron bots crawling all over the place.  I’ve had so many close calls—“  She shuddered, her eyes going distant.  Her thin hands—thinner, Nova noted, than when she had first come out of the vault—twitched nervously.  “Besides,” she added, returning to them, “I don’t think Moriarty would like it.”  She gave that forced, frenetic laugh again.  “I’ve already got one company of mercs looking for me, I don’t need two.”

 _And_ _if the kid took Gob away, Moriarty would be liable to make this town a **very** unfriendly place for her, _ Nova thought.  The kid _needed_ Megaton.  Every traveler in this region of the Wastes did.  There wasn’t another town like it this side of the river, with a clinic, a repair shop/general store with stim-packs, ammo and other necessities, a regular caravan stop, pure water, and even a bed, now that the kid had a house.   If Moriarty turned the town against her, the kid could not survive.  _It stinks, but there it is._

Gob evidently realized it too; he seemed to draw back within himself.  “Eh.  Never mind, kid.”  His decayed features contorted into something that looked like a painful smile.  “I was just messing with you.”  He hadn’t been—he had been desperately in earnest—but Nova supposed it didn’t hurt to say so.  He started to say something else but was interrupted by a yell from the back room.

 _“Gob!_ ”  The ghoul’s shoulders twitched.  _“Get out back and start unloading those crates **now!**   Or do I have to kick yer rotten arse up between yer ugly ears to get ye to move?” _ 

His features twisted further.  “I have to go.  See you later, kid.”

“Gob—“ the kid began.

“Later.”  The ghoul shuffled off toward the back room.  The Vaultie watched him go and sighed heavily.

“He’ll get over it,” Nova tried to console her.

“I hope so.”  She shifted again on her stool.  “One day,” she said suddenly, “if I ever get enough caps, I’m going to buy him out.  That’s a promise.”

Nova simply nodded.   The chance of her being able to scav enough caps to do that was nil, but if it made the kid feel better to think that, more power to her.

“I wasn’t lying,” the kid continued.  “It really is that dangerous out there.   Every time I go out there, I keep wondering—is this going to be the time I don’t make it back?”  She gave that slightly unsettled laugh again. “At least there’ s Med-X—it’s really good for chasing away the ‘what-ifs,’ did you know?”




“A lot of wasters say the same thing,” Nova responded noncommittally.  The Vaultie let it pass.  She looked after Gob again. 

“I can barely protect myself as it is _,_ ” she said again, quietly.  “The thought of taking a guy like Gob into that—he’s a sweet guy, but….  And if anything ever happened to him on my watch, I’d never forgive myself.  No.”  The kid shook her head.  “I work best on my own.”

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you—if it’s so dangerous, why do you go out there?”  As the kid turned to look at her, Nova continued, “I mean, now you’ve got a house and all.  You could settle down, maybe, set up some kind of business—“

“No.  I can’t.  I _have_ to find my dad,” the kid said, so sharply that Nova drew back in surprise.  She turned to look at Nova, and Nova saw her eyes freeze into chips of blue ice.  “He abandoned the Vault…he left me there for the Overseer…he _lied_ to me.  He lied to me about _everything._ Who I was, where I came from….”  Her delicate jaw set, hard.  “I’m going to track him down, look him in the eyes, and _make_ him tell me why he did it…whether one word he ever said to me in my entire life was ever true.”

The transformation in the kid was extraordinary—she was actually trembling with suppressed rage.   Those eyes bored into her, burning. In that moment Nova began to understand how this sheltered, naïve little Vaultie who had literally been living under a rock her whole life had found the determination to transform herself into a roving Waster.  Suddenly, Nova could envision the kid surrounded by supermutants, fighting for her life, and not find the situation completely implausible.   She could even believe that the kid would come out on top.




“I’m going to find him,” the kid repeated, her voice shaking, “no matter _what_ it takes.  I _swear_ it.”

 _Even if it kills you?_ Nova didn’t say it.  She had seen such resolution before.   Many of those whose eyes she had seen it in were now burnouts or worse.  The kid seemed a little shaken by her own depth of emotion; she looked down at the bar and clasped her hands together briefly, stuffing that anger back down inside her.  In another moment, she was the friendly, courteous, polite ex-Vaultie she had always been.  “Anyway, it’s best I don’t bring Gob into that,” she finished, somewhat lamely.

“Yeah.  I agree.”  The kid looked askance at her, but Nova kept her face expressionless.  Eventually the Vaultie dropped her eyes.  “Gob’s a real sweet, gentle guy and the Wastes are really no place for him.”

“Yeah.”  The Vaultie shifted again.  “He deserves a better life, than stuck here as Moriarty’s peon.  I owe him, you know?  If he weren’t willing to—“  She glanced at the back room herself, making sure that Moriarty wasn’t in earshot.  “If he weren’t willing to cut me a break on the stim-packs, I’d be in a lot worse shape than I am now.  In a way we’re kind of in the same boat.  You know, he left that ghoul city he talks about and I left the Vault, and both of us came here and neither of us can go back.”

“You can’t go back to the Vault?” Nova asked with interest.  She’d thought the kid was out here because she didn’t want to go back, not because she couldn’t.  “Why not?”

The kid bit her lip and looked down.  “It’s a long story.  Has to do with the Vault Overseer.  I don’t feel like going into it right now.”  She drummed her fingers on the bar.  “I just wish I could do something to help Gob.  It sucks that someone as nice as he is is stuck in such a lousy spot.” 

Nova guessed she wasn’t just talking about Moriarty.  “Being a ghoul certainly hasn’t made his life any easier,” she agreed.  “But…what are you going to do.  Life’s not fair, kiddo.  If you spend too much time lamenting that, you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

“Has he ever said anything about how he…changed?” the kid asked.

“Into a ghoul?  No.  I figure it’s his business, and if he wants me to know, he’ll tell me.  I mean—I assume it happened some time ago; he was already a ghoul when Moriarty first bought him off the slavers, and that was before I started working here.  You know they say ghouls live longer than normal people.”

“Yeah—I’d heard that.”  The kid gave her a sideways look, and Nova could see a question in her eyes. 

“What is it?  Spit it out, kid.”

The kid hesitated a moment more, then rushed out with, “Have you ever—worked—with him?”

“Worked with him?” Nova repeated blankly.

“ _You_ know.  _Worked_ with him.”  The kid gestured for emphasis.  “You know what I mean.  I’ve seen him looking at you, and I wondered….”

“Have I—“  Then the kid’s meaning hit her and rocked her back on her heels.  _Oh._ Nova felt the blood rush to her face, for the first time in forever.  She’d sensed for a long time that Gob had a quiet, unspectacular crush on her, but it had always gone unspoken between them—for which Nova was deeply, deeply thankful.  _To hear the kid just mention it like that…_. 

Flustered, she groped, “With—with Gob?  Well…he’s sweet and everything, and….and I know that he’d like to, it’s just….”  Nova sighed, running her hands through her hair.  Gob _was_ a sweetie, and personality-wise, he was closer to Nova’s type than, for example, Jericho—though Nova wondered in her more depressing moments if someday she would in fact end up settling for Jericho, just because he was there.  No, she and Gob might have had a chance, except…. _Except._   _What a world,_ she thought tiredly. 

The kid was still waiting for an answer.  “Look, I don’t want to sound shallow or anything,” she tried.  “I mean, I’m a whore, my standards aren’t exactly high…”  She gave a small, nervous laugh, then sighed again.  Her mouth twisted into a crooked smile.  “Let’s just say there are some places even I won’t go.  Johnnies that’re squishier than me are one of ‘em.”

She meant it to sound arch, but couldn’t help averting her eyes.  Whether she was trying to avoid the kid’s condemnation or her own, she couldn’t have told.   There was more she could have said, but really, what was the point?  Things were the way they were.  Hesitantly, she glanced back at the Vaultie, and was somewhat comforted by the empathy she saw in the kid’s face.




“I understand,” the kid said quietly.  “Hell, I’d probably feel the same way if I were you.  He’s a sweet guy, but…”  _But._   “Life sucks, sometimes, you know?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, it does,” Nova agreed with feeling. 

The Vaultie gave that lovely smile again, exposing her bad teeth, and rubbed at her reddened eyes with the back of one skinny hand.  “I’ve got to go,” she said, sliding off her stool.  “I want to get to Craterside Supply before Moira closes so I can sell some of this shit.  Then hit Doc’s clinic.”  She didn’t say what for, but Nova guessed it would be another stay to get clean.  “I might be in tomorrow, so start thinking about what you want me to bring back from Rivet City—I’ll get you anything you want, as long as it’s cheap and light.”

“I want _you_ to take _care,_ kiddo,” Nova cautioned her.  “Going to Rivet City won’t be a walk in the park, you know.”

“Don’t worry about me, Nova.  I know what I’m doing,” the kid replied.  “I’ll be fine.  See you.” 

She smiled again, raised one hand in farewell, and in that moment, Nova felt she had never seen such gallantry as the kid showed then.  There was a shadow over her—she could see that clearly—but it couldn’t dim the luster of the kid’s spirit.  _She might actually manage it,_ Nova thought.  _She might actually get to Rivet City, find her dad, all of it._   Her eyes lingered on the door after the kid had left, for a long time.

When she turned away, she saw Gob standing right behind her.

“ _Gob!_ ” she cried out, jumping a bit.  “For god’s sake, _say_ something.  You startled me!”

“Did I?” the ghoul said glumly.  He said nothing else.  Slowly, it occurred to Nova to wonder how long he’d been standing there.

“How…how much of that did you hear?” she asked faintly.

“Every word.”  The ghoul raised his decaying hand to cover his eyes and turned his face away.  “Nova—  Goddamnit, Nova—“  His voice broke.

Guilt swelled in Nova’s heart at the hopelessness she heard there.  “I am so sorry, Gob,” she breathed, desperately wishing she could find just the right words to make it all better.

“You know what the worst part is?” he continued.  “I can’t even blame you.  If I were a smoothskin I wouldn’t want to be with one of us either.  Hell, I can barely stand to look at myself in the mirror sometimes, I can’t—“  He swallowed hard and forced a weak, painful smile.  “So it’s—it’s okay, Nova.  I understand.  I do.  I just—”

He trailed off, turning his back on her.  Those broad shoulders tightened under the thin, grimy material of his shirt.  Nova’s heart ached for him.  There was nothing she could say.  Any attempt to convince him his ghoulish condition wasn’t the problem would be cruel and insulting to him; it would be a blatant lie, one that he would see through instantly.  She couldn’t hurt him like that.  _I’ve already hurt him enough._

“I wish things were different, Gob,” she said at last.  “I know that doesn’t help anything.”

“It doesn’t,” he said gruffly.  “But thanks for saying it, I guess.”   He turned his head then, looking at her over his shoulder with one filmy eye.  “Look…Nova…I want to say something—“




“Gob—“

“Gob, listen, I—“

“Please, say it’s not too much.  Just to ask you to remember?  It doesn’t hurt you, doesn’t impose on you—I’d never want to do that.    It just—it gives me something to hope for.  I’ve got so little to hope for.  Don’t take that away from me, Nova, please.  Don’t take my hope away.”

He turned to face her, and she saw his whole heart in those faded, rheumy eyes, his simple, desperate longing.  It was a look that she had never seen from any other man in her whole life.   She knew she should let him down, gently perhaps but still—but that look disarmed her.  And after all, it was little enough to promise.   At length she sighed. _What kind of a world is it when the best hope of a sweet guy like Gob is to gain the affections of a whore like me?_




“Gob, if it means that much to you….if that day comes, I’ll remember.  I promise.”

 “That’s all I’m asking, Nova,” Gob said.  “I know a—a guy like me can’t expect anything else, but thank you for at least giving me that much.” 

An awkward silence fell between the two of them, a silence so thick it seemed to have actual weight.  Gob began scrubbing very hard at the bar countertop, while Nova busied herself lighting a cigarette.  The silence went on and on, growing very loud indeed, until at last, to break the tension, Gob reached out and flicked on the radio.  The tinny strains of a song long dead filled the room.  GNR was back on the air again.

 _Finis._


End file.
